2Lt William A. "Billy" Duke's crew was
assigned to the group a few days before Christmas 1944. After a brief
indoctrination period, they began flying missions on January 21, 1945.
The crew was able to get in five combat missions in a one month period.

The crew aborted two additional missions
due to mechanical problems. On February 3rd, flying B-24J 42-95120
Hookem Cow, the ship experienced engine trouble causing the numbers 1
and 2 props to run away. On the February 15th mission to Magdeburg, the
crew aborted in the vicinity of Splasher 5 after repeated attempts to
raise the landing gear failed.

Their sixth mission to the marshalling yards at Peine and Hildesheim Germany on February 22, 1945 is documented below.

Duke Crew with unidentified aircraft and a blown engine

February 22, 1945

THE IRON DUKE & ITS CREWThe story of a B-24 crew shot down over Europe and their adventurous survival

By George Reynolds

This article first appeared in B-24 Liberator Commemorative Edition, Vol. 2 No. 1 1995It is reproduced here with photos by the kind permission of the author.

In the predawn hours of 22 February
1945, throughout the European Theater of Operations, ground and air
crewmen were preparing for Operation Clarion—a maximum effort to deliver
a coup de grace to the Nazi rail and communications systems. Some 2500
bombers and fighters of the U.S. Eighth, Ninth, Twelfth, Fifteenth Air
Forces and the Royal Air Force were participating in the largest
combined air campaign since D-Day over central and southern Germany and
the Mediterranean area. However, today’s smaller, widely dispersed
targets dictated individual Group sorties rather than a giant strike
force that attacked Normandy. Weather was to be favorable.

A base “somewhere in England”: (Air
Force Station 123, near Norwich and home to the 458th Bombardment Group,
Heavy), it was one of the Eighth’s fourteen fields in East Anglia to
launch B-24 Liberator elements in the massive operation. Their
objective: Railroad marshalling yards at Peine and Hildesheim in central
Germany.

At dawn a heavy overcast verified the
local weather was not as forecast. But a weather reconnaissance P-51
had reported clearing conditions over the Continent and, at 0900 hours,
thirty-eight B-24s of the 458th departed on its most unusual mission in
eleven months of combat. Instead of the normal 25,000-foot flight
level, bombing altitude was 10,000 feet. And worse, there would be no
clouds to screen the bombers from those deadly flak batteries awaiting
in Germany.

The Liberators climbed over Alkmaar,
Holland, and the Zuider Zee to 22,000 feet before breaking out for
assembly into combat structure. To avoid midair collisions in the
clouds, the aircraft had scattered, but eventually formed into two boxed
forces of sixteen and eighteen ships. During the climb, four of the
war-weary planes aborted with mechanical trouble. The sixteen-plane
element headed for Peine, the other for Hildesheim.

Large breaks began appearing in the
undercast over Germany, and the sixteen B-24s descended to 10,000 feet,
heading southeasterly. Dortmund slipped by to the left while the
formation skirted known flak areas. Crewmen marveled at how plainly
they could see enemy territory today after flying over it “blind” in the
past. Cologne passed to their right. Ahead, the initial point
(pivotal), Eisenach, loomed on the horizon. Here, the armada would turn
northward with their bombsights on Peine, but a smaller town had to be
crossed first.

It was clear over Hersfeld when a puff of ranging flak crumpled under the formation where planes number 42-51215 B [flown by 2Lt Joseph E. Szarko
and crew] and 44-10491 I brought up the rear. Suddenly, 215-B received
a disintegrating blast in its bomb bay. One wing twirled away as
though in slow-motion, and a parachute emerged from the waist section.
But that crewman was drawn back into the inferno as a fiery mass plunged
all ten men earthward.

From the tail turret, Panarese called
his sighting on 215-B, as required, by intercom to Eselgroth for entry
in 491’s logbook. A moment later Iron Duke was slammed upward by three
bursts of flak. Duke felt the controls go slack in his hands and knew
they could not remain in formation. Nearly all of the ships left rudder
had been torn away, a wing’s aileron vanished, holes appeared in the
fuselage and severed control cables dangled in the waist compartment.
Duke made a jagged right turn, then ordered Miller to salvo the bomb
load. Their twelve highly explosive cylinders were screaming earthward
immediately, and soon began bursting in the village of Meckbach. Mrs.
Katherine Kraft was the only fatality when five homes were hit. Above,
the pilots struggled to keep Iron Duke airborne while asking Eselgroth
for a heading to the nearest friendly forces lines. Duke did not want
to risk going back toward heavy flak areas along the Rhine with limited
control and at such a low altitude.

The Iron Duke maneuvered easier minus
the bombs’ weight, but it was impossible to hold a fixed heading with
only the autopilot’s few cables intact. They were flying with a
30-degree yaw to the right, airspeed of 110 knots and with 20 degrees of
flaps, were able to maintain 7000 feet of altitude.

Eselgroth called Duke and gave him a
heading of 210 degrees. This would get them close to advancing American
ground forces south of Frankfurt. Duke then ordered Eselgroth, Miller,
and [nose gunner] Johnson to leave the nose section and come up to the
flight deck in case they had to bail out.

The Iron Duke moved slowly on, and
although the crew was on alert to jump, they felt good about reaching
Allied lines before having to leave the ship. At 1315 hours, 491-I was
north of Gelhausen, and Duke tried a turn southward to avoid flak
batteries around Frankfurt. The response was almost nil. Lieutenant
Erich Bauder, commander of a [German] railroad flak battery, saw a
four-engine bomber approaching and posted his crew. They had four 128mm
and two 20mm guns mounted on a flatcar at Mulheim station, near
Offenbach. Bauder even felt pangs of pity for the men inside the
aircraft, for he knew, at their speed and altitude, they could not
escape from his deadly radar-controlled firepower.

A ranging shot exploded in front of and
below the aircraft. Then three quick bursts put the Liberator out of
control, and it began descending immediately. Eruptions under the left
wing had ripped out a five-foot section of fuselage and started a hot
fire in the waist compartment. Duke unwittingly agreed with Bauder—Iron
Duke could not escape. He ordered his crew to bail out while some
measure of control remained.

Over Gelnhausen, Miller was first to
leave, followed by Garcia and Eselgroth. Then Johnson, Panarese, and
Frazer jumped just before Iron Duke suddenly dropped its nose and fell
earthward. Duke juggled the auto-pilot while centrifugal force glued
him and Monroe to their seats. Gretz was still in the top turret.
Slowly the plane responded to his coaxing and leveled off at 3000 feet.
Duke sent Gretz out the open bomb bay and Monroe right behind him as
puffs of flak continued to burst around Iron Duke. Gretz looked up and
saw chutes, and then watched as 491-I made a sharp turn south-eastward.

People on the ground had heard the flak
barrage begin, and they started to watch the course of events. Many saw
chutes blossoming and a burning bomber bobbing its nose while slowly
losing altitude. Southeast of Frankfurt, near the village of
Hainhausen, Iron Duke dropped one wing just before it struck the ground,
nosed over on her back and exploded with an intense rumble.

Painting: Mike Bailey

Meanwhile, Miller descended into an open
field near Mulheim and was quickly captured by civilian police. He was
marched through the streets toward Offenbach police headquarters. On
the way, civilians began calling out threats and abuse to Miller, then
attacked. Once, he went down and a hobnail boot opened a gash on his
forehead. Finally the police were able to move him away from the mob
and reached safety at headquarters. One of the officers said in broken
English, “The people are enraged over killings by American aircraft.”

Garcia slammed into a large storage
building with glass skylights on its roof. He was bleeding profusely
when police came and moved him to an adjacent field.

As Eselgroth descended he saw that his
spot would be a home’s backyard with several brick walk-ways and a
picket fence. Fortunately he hit on soft earth. He untied his brogan
shoes (these are better for walking than low quarter shoes worn inside
the fur-lined flying boots) from his chute harness and held one in each
hand. Looking up, Eselgroth saw a gate and next to it a sergeant
scaling the fence and wearing the SS uniform complete with drawn Luger.

[Sergeant] Max Ruchel approached to
within ten feet and asked Eselgroth, “Have you a pistol?” Eselgroth
responded, “No pistol”, while raising his hands still holding a shoe in
each. The sergeant walked around Eselgroth, frisked him and called out
for someone in the house to unlock the gate. Mrs. Juliane Kaiser, the
property owner, unlocked her gate and Ruchel motioned Eselgroth to go
out. “I should at least give that flier a cup of coffee,” Mrs. Kaiser
thought as he started to the gate with raised hands.

As Eselgroth started through, a group of
civilians reached the gate followed by soldiers from the flak battery.
The mob screamed threats and insults first, then attacked with tools
and sticks. Ruchel grabbed a soldier’s rifle and clubbed several of
them back, then prodded Eselgroth into running down an alley while the
soldiers retained the mob.

As they walked toward the town’s center,
children along the way began spitting and throwing small stones at both
men. Adults poured verbal wrath upon Ruchel for protecting an enemy
flier while wearing the SS uniform. Ruchel left Eselgroth with members
of the flak battery crew until police arrived. Then he was marched to
the railroad station and seated on its frontal cobblestone roadway.

Johnson landed about 50 yards from
Eselgroth. His chute caught on the gable of a house, stranding him
several feet above ground. Some distance away an old man called out in
broken English, “Hands up!” while he waved a handgun. Policemen came
immediately, however, and carried Johnson to a nearby rail car for
safekeeping.

Panarese bailed out the camera hatch in
the rear fuselage, while flak burst around Iron Duke and shrapnel
pierced his shoulder. He landed midway in the rail yard with his chute
draped over a boxcar, suspending him 15 feet up. He pushed the chute’s
harness release, fell to the ground supine and lost his breath
momentarily. By the time he could breathe again a policeman was
hustling him to the railroad station.

Later a truck came to carry Panarese to
Offenbach hospital for first aid on his shoulder. Two other crewmen
were already aboard. Garcia (left) was very pale and continued mumbling,
“Sanar…sanar,” (Spanish for cure or heal me). Miller was bleeding from a
wound on his forehead. At the hospital, Miller and Panarese were
treated, then presently asked to identify Garcia’s body as a member of
their crew. A Dr. Wolf had given him a transfusion which had failed to
save his life.

Lucas touched down with his chute
tangled in an apple tree. Three forest workers were nearby and began
making verbal threats. But a soldier, on leave, had seen the chute,
started toward the airman and arrived simultaneously with the workers.
He kept the civilians from harming Lucas until police arrived.

Frazer tumbled earthward struggling with
a balky ripcord. At the last possible moment the canopy blossomed,
breaking his fall. He landed in a thick, wooded area near the village
of Bieber. Police and army troops searched for hours in vain, then
finally gave up.

Gretz also came down in the open and to
immediate capture by police. He had no encounter with civilians, and
was allowed to retrieve his perpetual supply of candy bars attached to
his chute harness, which he began eating promptly.

Monroe jumped and his chute opened
immediately. Gretz waved from below, Monroe returned it and looked
above to see Duke’s chute. Two policemen were waiting for him in a
field near Bieber.

Duke landed shortly after Monroe, and
policemen were in the field when he touched down. They carried Duke
directly to the Bieber police station.

F/O Richard Eselgroth

Sgt Alessandro Panarese

Sgt Charles Gretz

Sgt Albert Lucas

Sgt Carl Johnson

By 1515 hours, Eslegroth, Miller,
Panarese, Gretz, Lucas, and Johnson had been captured and were seated on
the cobblestone roadway at Mulheim railroad station. Miller and
Panarese whispered to the others that Garcia had died. A crowd of both
curious and hostile quickly gathered. Verbal threats and abusive
language (in English) flowed from the people. The Americans became
apprehensive about their safety until soldiers from the flak battery
were posted to keep the civilians at bay.

One man, dressed totally in black,
singled out Eselgroth for foul verbiage after one of the guards read the
names aloud from their brown jackets. He kept ranting for several
minutes. But a hush settled over the crowd when Lieutenant Bauder came
from the battery and talked with the crewmen for a moment, asking
whether everyone was alright. Pointing to Eselgroth’s nameplate he
said, “Deutsche?” and he nodded affirmatively. “Why do you return to
bomb the fatherland?” [Eselgroth responded,] “I’m an American,
Lieutenant…we’re at war.”

The afternoon wore on, and the airmen
began quietly surmising that they were being held here awaiting the
arrival of Duke, Monroe, and Frazer. Gratification seeped in among the
fliers over a good possibility that those not here had escaped
captivity. The guards apparently spoke little or no English, for they
would not answer simple questions from their prisoners. Using sign
language, Eselgroth asked whether the quadruple-barreled 20mm gun had
been the one that shot them down. One guard finally smiled and pointed
to the 128mm guns.

At twilight, when the others had not
arrived, the six crewmen were placed aboard a wood-burning truck and
carried to a large jail near Hanau. Here they were lodged in separate
cells overnight and the next morning were given black bread and
coffee—their first food and drink in 24 hours. Next they boarded a
train back to Frankfurt and spent the entire day in a bomb shelter
beneath the railroad station.

In the evening, another train carried
the airmen northward to Oberursel where a Lieutenant “Hausman”
questioned them. He pretended to be writing a book called “Name, Rank
and Serial Number,” based on prisoner’s information, to be published
after the war. The lieutenant threatened to have them shot as spies
unless they gave him technical facts about their unit. All said the
same thing. They had been in England less than two months when shot
down, and actually knew little or none of the data he wanted. Later, he
showed each one the contents of a thick folder left on his desk during
interrogation. “Hausman” already had more details on the 458th
Bombardment Group than the six men combined knew.

Iron Duke’s crew was separated for a
short time, but eventually all of them were interned in Stalag Luft III
near Nuremburg. After American ground forces crossed the Rhine in early
March 1945, the war’s outcome became definite. When April arrived,
POWs were force-marched southward from their barbed wire compounds.

En route to their final imprisonment,
circumstances changed drastically for all Allied prisoners. Red Cross
parcels (food and personal items) were plentiful. The guards
(middle-aged men of the Luftwaffe) were suspected of “going along with
the crowd.” And it appeared that the journey was more burdensome for
them than their prisoners. The POWs helped some of the older men carry
packs, and at times, even weapons. Frequently they said, “Deutschland
ist kaput.” No one considered trying to escape with the war all but
over. A POW asked one guard for his helmet as a souvenir. The guard
replied, “Wait a few days and you can have the uniform to go with it.”
Another prisoner offered a guard, in jest, ten cigarettes for his rifle.

Moosburg was a depot for incoming Red
Cross parcels from Switzerland, and on 14 April the Iron Duke’s crew
reached this huge POW center. All prisoners were treated well here and
simply waited for “the day.” On 29 April a single P-51 buzzed the
compounds, and shortly after machine gun fire rattled as a Sherman tank
of the 14th Armored (Liberators) Division crushed the main gate beneath
its treads. “Liberated” cars, trucks, cycles, and a few horses carried
the jubilant former POWs about the town in frenzied activities.

Soon there was a truck ride to a
captured airfield, next to France by C-47 and on to the States (via
Southampton, England) by ship. During their days of captivity the Iron
Duke crew inquired about their missing members from every possible
source, but not a hint of them was heard. Meanwhile, in America,
families of all ten men had exchanged bits and pieces of information
while conducting a campaign to learn the fates of Duke, Monroe, Frazer,
and Garcia—six others had been reported to be POWs through the Red
Cross.

When 1946 arrived, hope again arose for
the four crew members as teams of special troops began combing Germany
and the occupied countries for thousands of missing personnel. In
Oxford, Mississippi, Mrs. Homer Duke received a letter from General of
the Army Dwight D. Eisenhower stating that her oldest son’s death in a
plane crash in 1943 over Australia had been confirmed. He also
expressed his regret that “Billy” Duke was still Missing in Action.

On 6 March 1946, the graves of Garcia,
Frazer, Monroe, and Duke were discovered in a small cemetery in
Muhlheim. Their remains were exhumed and sent to an Allied cemetery at
St. Avold, France the next day. After family notifications, Graves
Registration officials conducted thorough examinations on the bodies of
recovered Allied personnel. In the case of Frazer, Monroe, and Duke, it
was obvious they had not died from wounds consistent with the known
facts—statements from fellow crew members established that they had all
reached the ground safely except Garcia.

War crimes investigators entered into
the inquiry, and a more intensive investigation began. Meanwhile, [the
bodies of] Duke, Monroe, and Frazer were returned for burial in their
hometowns. Garcia’s mother elected to leave her son at St. Avold.

The
Superior Orders War Crimes Case (The United Sates of America v. Jurgen
Stroop et al) was held in Dachau, Germany from 10 January - 21 March
1947, in which twenty-two individuals were tried under a general charge
of Violation of the Laws of War—in the main, criminal acts against
Allied airmen. Lt. General Jurgen Stroop was accused of receiving and
transmitting orders from the likes of Heinrich Himmler and Ernst
Kaltenbrunner down to local police levels to shoot any flier parachuting
from a damaged aircraft over Germany. He was also charged with
following the principles of Joseph Goebbels and Martin Bormann to incite
the German people to lynch airmen. And police were instructed not to
interfere as civilians assaulted the defenseless fliers.

Jurgen Stroop eliminated the final
Jewish resistance at the Warsaw Ghetto in the spring of 1943. His
activities there, well documented in a report to Berlin, moved the
Polish government to seek his extradition for trial on crimes against
the Polish people. He was sent back to Warsaw, convicted and executed
on 6 May 1952. His compatriots, all those known to have been associated
with the deaths of Monroe, Duke, and Frazer were prosecuted. Trial
testimony revealed the last hours of three of the Iron Duke’s crew.

Lt. Monroe was captured by two Bieber
policemen. En route to Offenbach police headquarters an air raid
warning sounded, and the three men went to a shelter that also housed a
fire station. Inside, the assistant police director, Josef Kiwitt, fire
chief, Paul Nahrgang, and two of his assistants, Bernard Fay and
Phillip Hammann were present. They began a whispered conversation,
during which Kiwitt ordered Monroe shot. Access to the shelter was
limited to two doors. Monroe was provoked into leaving the area, after
allegedly striking Fay, then ran toward the street. Fay began yelling,
“Halt” while firing his pistol into the air. Meanwhile, Hammann went
out the other door carrying a rifle. He fired three shots at Monroe,
killing him instantly, “while trying to escape”—still wearing his heavy
flying suit and fur-lined boots. The body was then taken to Offenbach
police headquarters.

Lt. Duke was captured near Bieber and
carried to the police station. He asked for and was given something to
drink, then permitted to smoke. Shortly, Hans Eichel, Offenbach police
director, and Josef Kitwitt arrived. They strongly rebuked those
present for allowing Duke such privileges. More conversation followed
and Duke was sent to an army post in Offenbach to be held as a POW. On
the way there, Sgt. Herman Moller, Bieber police, shot Duke “while
trying to escape”—in his heavy flying suit and fur-lined boots. His
body was also taken to Offenbach Headquarters.

Insufficient material evidence prevented
a trial being held in Sgt. Frazer’s death. However, records told of
his plight. He hid well until Sunday, 25 February, but became weak and
cold from lack of food and water. Church bells began ringing in the
early morning and Frazer moved toward them. He saw a Catholic church in
Bieber and went there, hiding in a shed at the rear of it. Finally
Frazer approached Chaplain Mathias Felder for assistance, but some of
the parishioners were in the church after Mass due to an air raid
warning and saw the American flier.

The people started a heated squabble
about Frazer, and the chaplain had no choice but to turn him over to the
police (because of alienation between the Church and Nazi Party). On
the way to Bieber’s police station, Felder told Frazer of Duke’s and
Monroe’s fate and expressed the hope that his would be different.
Stenographer Liesel Blummer was at home when police Lieutenant Kurt
Anfall (fictitious name to protect innocent family members) came and
ordered her to headquarters to record an interrogation of the captured
airman. She had heard him express his regret for not being present on
Thursday when the others were captured. A Luftwaffe officer was at the
station as she arrived, but Anfall refused to release Frazer to him for
transfer to an army post. Instead, he began accusing the padre of
giving aid and comfort to a prisoner.

The lieutenant failed in his assertions,
however, and Chaplain Felder was allowed to return to his church.
Anfall ordered one Lieutenant Blum to bring a motorcycle to the nearby
sports field, stating he would go no farther with the American. Anfall
marched Frazer to the field, shot him, got on his motorcycle and rode
away. The body lay there all day, and was carried to Offenbach
headquarters that evening.

The decisions of the Dachau court were
that Hans Eichel, director of Offenbach police, was responsible for the
death of Lt. Monroe. His aide, Captain Josef Kiwitt, was responsible
for Lt. Duke’s death. Both denied the charges unequivocally. However,
they were convicted for their atrocity. On 15 October, Kiwitt was
hanged, and on 3 December 1948 Eichel paid for his crime in a like
manner.

Paul Nahrgang was sentenced to five
years in prison for the Monroe case. Bernard Fay received the same
sentence. Both were paroled early. Phillip Hammann received a fifteen
year term and died in prison of natural causes on 30 July 1947. William
Albrecht, Bieber police chief, was also charged with the shooting of
Duke and received a death sentence, but he was granted clemency with a
fifteen-year prison term. He was paroled on 9 December 1953. Bieber
police sergeant Herman Moller was charged with actually shooting Duke.
His sentence was death, but he was also granted clemency with a
fifteen-year term. Moller was paroled 23 September 1954.

Shortly before American ground forces
reached the Offenbach area, as they battled northward, Kurt Anfall
disappeared. He has not been heard of again, and all efforts to trace
his whereabouts were unsuccessful.

Roger Freeman

Hubert Blasi

Eugen Lux

Dick Eselgroth was on a tour of England
in 1971 when he met Roger A. Freeman. Roger, a noted Eighth Air Force
historian and author, had just received a letter from Hubert Blasi in
which he translated a story written by a fellow German historian, Eugen
Lux, on the events of the Iron Duke and crew. Eselgroth began planning a
return trip to Offenbach for more details about his aircraft and the
deceased crewmen.

Eugen Lux had phenomenal
success in further research of the incident of 22 February 1945. He
located records and eyewitnesses to most of the events that day
twenty-eight years before. In 1973, Eselgroth went to Mrs. Juliane
Kaiser’s home for a very belated cup of coffee. The now Dr. Erich
Bauder was a congenial host—this time! He recalled vividly his musings
of pity for the men in the Liberator for he thought some, perhaps
all,would die when the radar-controlled flak guns began firing. Neither
man held any residual animosity, they mutually agreed that war is as it
is for both sides.

Eselgroth waited anxiously
but unsuccessfully to meet Max Ruchel again. He felt a personal thanks
to the former SS sergeant who saved him from the civilian mob was long
past due. Seemingly, Max would be the most difficult to locate, as Lux
had so little to go on and with thousands of possibilities.

Eselgroth, Lux, Blasi, and Werner
Girbig, a historian on crashed German aircraft, went to the site of Iron
Duke’s tomb. Using Girbig’s metal detector, they dug up twenty-five
pounds of debris such as switches, ammunition, hoses and the like.
Also, farmers had regularly plowed up various fragments and tossed them
into a clump of trees nearby. This spot now became a delightful
treasure pool for gathered historians. At least part of the Iron Duke
would finally rotate back to the States.

Gene Lux eventually located Max Ruchel (left)
near his own home. During the war he had been visiting his fiancée, and
since returned to marry and live in Offenbach. On 18 June 1974 Lux’s
letter was dispatched by air to Eselgroth in California. It arrived 26
June. However, Eselgroth underwent surgery in April, and postoperative
complications ended his life two days before [the letter arrived].

There can never be an amicable
conclusion to the story of the Iron Duke, nor for some of its peers.
But in sentiments of Eugen Lux, who also endured war, political
fanaticism eclipsed reason and humanity… henceforth, may abiding hope
temper mankind’s decisions when required.

The experiences of this story are based
on a collection of official documents and accounts of persons involved
or observers that were compiled by Richard M. Eselgroth, Sr.,
1945-1974. Many of these were obtained through the enthusiastic and
tireless efforts of Eugen Lux, translated from German to English by
Hubert Blasi and accommodation by Roger A. Freeman. For simplicity, the
events appeared sequentially without regard to the information’s
origin

2Lt Richard M. Eselgroth

1. The following is a true account
of the action in which the four missing members of the crew of B-24 #491
Liberator, of the 754 Squadron, 458 Group, 96th wing, 2nd Division, 8th
Air Corps [sic] took part on 22 February 1945.

2. The mission in question was a low
altitude mission against a rail center at Reinburg. The original
briefing was for Peine, Germany but in a last minute navigation
briefing, it was changed to Reinberg. We were briefed to bomb in two
groups. There were approximately 28 planes in the group using the same
I.P., 14 going to one target and 14 to another. On the way to the I.P.
at approximately Eisenach, Germany, we were hit by enemy flak. The ship
was crippled and we left formation. As near as I can determine from
statements by members of the crew, our right aileron and left rudder had
been shot away. The pilot gave the order to salvo the bombs, which was
done immediately. I gave the pilot a heading to the nearest allied
lines. He expressed difficulty in keeping the plane headed in the
desired direction. The plane was flying in about a 30° list to the
right and we were heading approximately 210° magnetic. In view of the
fact that the ship was crippled, the bombardier attempted to open the
nose wheel emergency door. The door would not open. I let the nose
gunner out of his turret, and he, the bombardier and I went up on to the
flight deck. The bombays [sic] were still open after salvoing the
bombs and we figured it would be safer to stay on the flight deck in
case we had to abandon ship.

3. We were flying at 7000 ft. with an
indicated speed of 125 mph with our flaps down to maintain the altitude;
we could not contact our friendly fighters; co-pilot Monroe made
consistent attempts to contact our airplanes, but was unsuccessful. Two
thirds of the way back to our lines, we were hit again by railroad flak
batteries at the town of Gelnhausen, Germany. The first burst missed
the ship and because of our slow speed and low altitude, the enemy got
in approximately seven or eight hits, further damaging the plane. The
radio operator in the waist at the time, said the 50 cal. Ammunition was
exploding; there were several large holes in the waist. I observed the
auxiliary power unit severely damaged by flak and large holes in the
belly in front of the forward bomb bay. One burst hit in the vicinity
of the #2 engine, very close, causing the pilot to throw his left hand
over his head, at which time he gave the order to bail out. I heard the
flak hit the side of the ship. The bombardier was first in line to go
out the bomb bay [sic], the engineer second, nose-gunner third, and
myself fourth. As of this time, none of the members of the crew forward
of the bomb bay had been wounded. Later, on the ground, I was told
that Sgt. Panarese was hit by flak as he went through the escape hatch
in the waist. He was hit in the left shoulder and was treated by German
medics on the ground.

4. I landed in the backyard of a house
some 500 yards from the flak guns that had shot us down. I was
immediately taken into custody by a German Sergeant of the flak unit,
who took me to the railroad station where the flak guns were located.
On the way we were attacked by civilians and severely beaten. Arriving
at the railroad station, I was told by the Germans that one of my
comrades had died and that one chute had not opened. Because of my lack
of knowledge of the language, I could not determine whether they were
talking of the same member of the crew or two different members of the
crew. Looking around the station, I observed Sgt. Panarese, Sgt. Lucas,
Sgt. Johnson, Sgt, Gretz, and Flight Officer Miller, who were also in
the station.

5. We left our formation at
approximately 1230 hours, and bailed out at about 1300 hours. At the
time we were at the railroad station it was about 1330 hours. At
approximately 1730 hours, a German army truck came and took us to a
neighboring town, which I believe was Untersbach where we were
imprisoned in the local jail, over night. While riding in the truck, I
was informed by F/O Miller that he had seen Sgt. Garcia in the German
First Aid Station. He said Sgt. Garcia’s right arm was almost torn from
his body and he looked sickly pale from loss of blood. I was later
informed by Sgt, Panarese that he had gone to a Germany cemetery with
the body of Sgt. Garcia and was asked to identify it by the Germans,
which he did.

6. No word from any source was heard by
us of the three other missing members of the crew. We assumed they had
evaded capture and were on their way back to our lines.

7. The next morning we were taken form
the jail at Untersbach and put on a train via Frankfort to Oberusal.
During my entire period of imprisonment in Germany, whenever I came in
contact with other prisoners shot down in the same vicinity, I inquired
about the three missing members of our crew, but at no time did I
receive information regarding them. While a prisoner of war, I was with
the other five surviving members of the crew, and at no time did they
receive any information. In view of the fact that we were all very much
concerned as to the fate of the three other members, we were constantly
inquiring of fellow prisoners for information, but up to this time of
writing, I have received no word concerning the members of the crew
mentioned in your letter of 24 July 1945.

SignedRichard M. EselgrothF/O AC. T-132898

Iron Duke Crew Escape Photos

War Crimes Investigation - 1947

Albert
E Miller

Questioned
by Lt Col Ross Barr

May
23, 1947

Q. State the circumstances surrounding the loss
of your aircraft in the vicinity of Muhlheim, Germany on or about 22 February
1945.

A. Maybe you had better ask me some questions on
that. I could probably give you a better
idea.

Q. Was your plane damaged by ground fire of
fighter craft?

A. Ground fire.
There wasn’t any fighter craft.

Q. What type of plane was it?

A. B-24.

Q. Did the plane explode while in air or did it
remain intact?

A. Not to my knowledge. It was still flying when I left the
ship. Now long it stayed intact, I don’t
know. It was very definitely
damaged. We were hit over Insbrach,
Germany first – it might be Insbrook – couple of spellings in it. It was our turning point where we were
letting down through an overcast – just as we broke out the barrage hit us and
at that time all of our control cables in the bomb-bay were cut, the tail was
damaged and the right wing was damaged, so we left formation. The radio was knocked out, that is, our radio
to the group. We left formation there
and lost about 1000 feet altitude. The
plane in front [Szarko] blew up – disintegrated. The right wing folded up on another ship in
front of us, and he went down. The pilot
was flying strictly by engines then. He
didn’t have any other control. We were
trying to steer between Frankfort and Koblenz to get back to France and I never
did know exactly what the location was.
I was navigating that day but had given my map to the navigator for
pilotage. He went up between the pilot
and co-pilot while I helped the engineer transfer gasoline from the right wing
tank to the left wing tank. Our right
wing was damaged and we were losing gas.
We were hit again over a small town.
I never verified the name of that town as I did not have the map at that
time. We met another barrage there. Heavy [anti]aircraft on flat [rail] cars hit
us. We were indicating about 125 air
speed at about 8500 feet indicated altitude and the plane was nosing down and
coming up – in other words, we were pretty near stall speed. We had salvoed our bombs to get rid of all
excessive weight so we could keep in the air.
At that time I was helping transfer the fuel We got two or three heavy barrages, then a
report that the tail gunner was hit. About the third or fourth barrage the
pilot said, “Get to hell out of here.”
So I didn’t wait – I bailed out and tried to get the engineer to go, but
he got cold feet and got the next barrage.
I looked off in the distance and saw the plane still flying as I was
coming down.

Q. Were any crew members killed in the plane or
so injured that they could not bail out?

A. The only one I know about that was injured
was the tail gunner. I saw him on the
ground. Of course, he didn’t bail out
when I did. He was Alessandro Panarese,
Serial No. 11122931. The pilot was
getting prepared to bail out and whether he was hit, I don’t know. I couldn’t see from where I was.

Q. Who was the pilot?

A. 2nd Lt. William A. Duke

Q. In what order did the crew bail out?

A. That, I don’t know, because I was the first
one out.

Q. Do you know for a fact that 2nd
Lt. William A. Duke, 2nd Lt. Archibald B. Monroe, Jr., and Sgt.
Charles Frazer, Jr., cleared the plane and landed safely?

A. That I do not know. I never saw them after I bailed out. I never did know what happened to them. W e
got no word through German interrogation what had happened to them.

Q. When did you last see Sergeant Baldmore
Garcia?

A. It was on the ground. It was at what appeared to be an old garage,
and his right arm at the elbow for about 6” was profusely bleeding. I tried to get to my parachute to get some
morphine for him, but they wouldn’t let me.
They wanted information as to whether he was a crew member of mine or
not. They left me stand there until he
bled to death. He lost a lot of
blood. They let him die there on the
floor.

Q. Do you know how Sergeant Garcia received the
wounds?

A. Not definitely. But it was a pretty shattered wound. I do know that when the upper gunner bailed
out he said the cat-walk was gone from flak.

Q. You say Sgt. Garcia bled to death?

A. Yes.
That is the only cut I saw – on his right arm. He was very pale from loss of blood – he was
still bleeding profusely.

Q. Can you name or describe any person or
persons who may have been responsible for letting him bleed to death?

A. No.

Q. Can you give the names of any crew members
who would know more about this?

A. No. To
my knowledge, I was the only one who saw him.

Q. By whom were you captured – civilians or
troops?

A. Troops.
It was the land army that captured me.

Q. Can you state exactly where you were
captured?

A. No.

Q. Were you mistreated in any way by your
captors?

A. Yes.

Q. Exactly what did they do to you?

A. After I hit the ground a land army soldier
picked me up and was joined by two more, making three guards, and civilians
gathered around. We started through the
town and walked about three or four blocks when the civilians pushed the guards
away and started after me and hitting me with something – I don’t know what it
was. They got me on the ground – then
somebody kicked me in the side of the head.
Next thing I knew I was being pretty severely beaten, and I pushed
myself up, took a swing at one of them, hit him, and jumped in between two
guards. They drew their guns and the
civilians cleared away.

Q. For identification purposes can you name or
give a good physical description of the person or persons responsible for
mistreating you?

A. Only one.
The one I definitely remember was, from all indications, the Mayor of
the city. He was stockily built – very
stockily built – mustache, dark hair, weighed around 185 to 190 pounds, I would
say. I say I don’t know for sure, but I
thought he was the mayor.

Q. About what age was this individual?

A. I would say in his early 40’s.

Q. Were you brought together with some of the
other crew members upon capture?

A. At first I was taken to the jail where I met
the upper gunner, Charles Gretz. We were
asked a few questions and were stripped down for weapons, etc, and were left in
a very unsanitary basement – I suppose it was a cell in the jail. From there they marched us up to the railroad
depot where we saw my navigator – who was Richard Eselgroth; also Albert Lucas,
Carl Johnson and Alessandro Panarese.

Q. Had the other crew members been mistreated?

A. Not to my knowledge at that time. They had separated us to keep us from
talking, and while we were waiting there for a truck to pick us up the upper
gunner, Charles Gretz, was in a box car by himself. A brown shirt started an uprising and they
all wanted to hang us, or course. He
broke through the guard and, with another fellow, jumped in the boxcar, grabbed
a board for a weapon and severely beat Gretz.
Then the guards, after a period of 5 or 6 minutes, casually walked over
and broke it up.

Q. Can you describe the person or persons
responsible for the mistreatment of Gretz?

A. No, I Can’t.

Q. Did you witness any other incidents of
mistreatment?

A. No.

Q. Have you anything further to add concerning
the treatment you and the other crew members received that would be of value to
this case?